Volare and Aeon: A boy and his giant purple robot
by Corvus Green
Summary: Some people believe that giving Shinji Ikari a happy childhood will make him the hero he was destined to be. I think all it takes is exposing him to a giant box chock full of western pop-culture and philosophy. Beware world, for the Aeon will be awakened by the Volare and they shall smite gods and bastards one Alfred Hitchcock joke at a time.
1. Birth of a mildly psychopathic person

**A/N: First off, hello, and thank you for deciding to read my first ever piece of fan fiction, and I hope you enjoy it. My basic premise is not unlike the one in Shinji and Warhammer 40k (go read that if you haven't. Your mind will be reduced to mud) with the idea of Shinji finding a case by the ocean, but similarities stop there. My Shinji idolizes the original owner of this case to the point that he tries to emulate him at every turn. It kind of fucks with his character….a lot…..to the point of that he's really OOC, especially in fights, but it's for the better I swear. Also, there's Pocky and ginger ale. Shit gets crazy, real fucking crazy. I hate long winded author's diatribes (Total hypocrite, I know) so I finish off with a piece of advice that may make reading more enjoyable if you can focus with music: listen to the Hives album the black and white album while reading, it fits very well. Alright sorry for blowing hot wind in your general direction, on with the story (insert cool transitional sound effects here)**

A young boy sat on the beach, barely out of the tide's reach. Tears were streaming down his face, as they had been for the past two hours. His eyes hurt and he was very thirsty, verging on dehydration. This seven year old boy had witnessed the death of his mother a little more than a mere twenty four hours before, an event that this child was incapable of comprehending. The being that had brought him into this world and loved him for the first seven years of his life was now no longer among the living. The boy did not remember how it had happened in entirety. There was a black hole in his memory accented by a hulking figure and the color purple, all tied together by the feminine screams erupting from his mother's twisted and contorted body.

The boy still sat in the sand, convulsing and shaking from the loss of maternal influence. He wiped his eyes for what seemed the hundredth time and looked around him to figure out where he was. The coast seemed to stretch on forever both to his left and his rights, behind him were sand dunes that obstructed his view, and the ocean in its all-consuming expanse lay in front of him. An object lodged in the edge of the sea foam caught his eyes. Searching for a distraction to ease the crippling pain in the pit of his chest, the boy dislodged himself from his curled up position in the sand and pulled himself into a standing position.

The boy slowly dragged his feet closer to the long box like object down the coast, his arms wrapped around his sides to give himself comfort. After a hundred feet of coast, the boy looked upon the metal chest that had washed upon the shore. Engraved on the top of the chest were three symbols he could not recognize, possibly part of the alphabet of one of the languages his mother had told him about. He kneeled down in front of the chest then ran his thin fingers over the clasps keeping the chest in an airtight state, before pulling up on them, a hiss emanating from the opening in the box. The boy fell back into the sand on his back, caught by surprise. Wiping his eyes free of tears once again, the boy climbed to his feet and peered inside.

Inside the chest was a cornucopia of new sights for the boy. A rubber case covered in strange zigzag designs with a zipper, books of every shape and size covered with the same strange symbols engraved on the chest, cardboard sleeves that upon examination had strange black discs inside, a bunch of tiny VCR tapes and a silver deck with a clear piece of plastic showing two strange white wheels, as well as a wooden box kept shut with a padlock. The final thing the boy found in the box was a blue hat similar to a newsboy's, with a star stitched onto the front of it.

The boy was entranced by the mystery he just discovered within this metal conundrum, his mother's death temporarily forgotten. He quickly replaced everything just how he found it, and then closed the large chest and buckled the clamps, a hiss signaling the resealing of it. The boy dragged the chest by the handle on the side through the sand and over the dunes to the medium sized home where he lived with his father and, up until less than forty-eight ago, his mother. The sudden reminder of the absence of his mother in his life from now and forever kick-started another round of torrential tears for the seven-year old, but his loud sobbing remained absent out of desperation to not alert his father and have his literal treasure chest confiscated.

With all the stealth and poise of a full grown elephant the boy snuck past his father's sleeping form in the dining room table, whom was passed out with a bottle of liquid forget-all-your-problems in his grip. The boy dragged the chest into his room, locking the door behind him, before once again diving into his newly discovered belongings.

**-XxX-seven years later-XxX-**

Shinji Ikari slid down to the floor against the door to his room, letting out an elongated sigh. He had survived another day of junior high school, a place that held every last bit of his disdain. It was not school itself that Shinji despised, but rather his fellow students. They took every possible chance to mock and berate him, not a single one of the showing any kind of friendly demeanor to him. This only served to annoy Shinji, as he had learned from the man he admired most that people's opinions only ever mattered if they were positive of critical in the constructive sense. He was still lonely, not having friends of any kind, but he did have someone to look up to, even if he didn't really know him.

After the death of his mother, Shinji's father Gendo shipped him off to live with his Aunt and Uncle. The two were okay, in Shinji's opinion, but they only ever did the bare minimum as his guardians. That was understandable in Shinji's eyes, as they had lost their own son shortly before becoming responsible for his continued growth and development, an event which had killed any chance of there ever being a parental relationship between them and Shinji. His uncle, however, had been a little warmer, tutoring the boy in English at his request.

Shinji had spent a month trying to decipher the strange writing that appeared on nearly every item within the metal chest he had discovered on the beach, until he brought one of the books to his father to ask what was written in it. The book was entirely written in English, a language much different from Shinji's native Japanese tongue. After moving in with his Aunt and Uncle, and discovering his Uncle translated English texts into Japanese for a living, Shinji begged his Uncle to educate him in the mastery of the language.

Three years later and Shinji was nearly as fluent as a native speaker in English, a fact that inspired pride in himself. The first year of learning the language was extremely difficult, due to his uncle being almost excessively hard in his teaching. The man had seen a chance to take his anger and dissent on someone who would be unable to fight back, a fact that he reveled in. After a year of intensive and sadistic lessons Shinji had been able to master the whole English alphabet, pronouncing each character in every form without a hint of his Japanese in his speech patterns. His uncle was impressed; it had taken him many years to do what Shinji was capable of with English and he had expected the boy to crack after a single lesson, not persevere till he could read nearly the whole daily newspaper in English, only stumbling when the Kanji became complex and had more than three English translations.

Shinji's Aunt however, was annoyed to say the least. She did not like her husband spending any time with their nephew, fearing he would identify them as his parents, something she would not stand for. She had been fine with the English lessons for the first two years, as her husband had forced extremely difficult concepts on the boy, but after that point the two had formed a sort of awkward camaraderie, her husband's feeling for his nephew verging on affectionate. She did not like it.

Shinji at this point in his English training would be able to pass for a native speaker, if not for the unidentifiable accent he had picked up from an unknown source. The strange sliding speech patterns Shinji possessed astounded his uncle, as they were obviously not natural but still felt right coming from the boy's mouth. The way Shinji spoke English was not exactly an accent, but still hovering between American and British speech patterns. Shinji, however, knew exactly why he spoke the way he did.

The Chest turned out to be engraved with the initials C.H.S., which after listening to the tape recorder tapes within turned out to stand for Charles Hunter Stone. The chest belonged to this man, who died during the events known as second impact, his steel chest somehow surviving when he did not.

Shinji pulled the steel chest from its hidden alcove: the large air conditioning vent located in his closet, then took the familiar kneeling posture in front of it. Shinji smiled at the familiar hissing sound as the air tight clasps released beneath his fingertips. He had poured over every object in the chest, knowing its contents by heart. He was constantly trying to work through one of the books located in the trunk, the stories held within entrancing him. The cyber punk worlds of William Gibson excited him and sent chills down his spine at how the author had predicted the internet as well as so many other scientific advances. Robert Jordan's wheel of time saga was easily the coolest thing he had ever read, spanning the most epic story he had ever read and most likely ever would. The mind of H.P. Lovecraft and the so called 'stories' the man wrote should have frightened Shinji, but instead made him excited and curious about what lay beyond human comprehension. The final author whose prose had found a place in the trunk was the original owner of the trunk himself. Charles Stone wrote tales of a man who had a symbiotic relationship with a monstrous machine that he used to fight against the evil within his world.

Shinji loved these books more than anything else he had ever read, they brightened up his life considerably, giving him an escape from the debilitating loneliness that permeated his existence. In addition to the books the chest was filled with records, seventy in all. It had taken Shinji a considerable amount of effort and time to locate a serviceable turn-table, but it turned out to be well worth the trouble. The records Shinji had included the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Moby, The Hives, The White Stripes, T. Rex, and John Coltrane. The Vinyl discs broadened Shinji's view of music, giving him an eclectic taste and an insatiable appetite for new artists. The trunk also had a primitive MP3 player, not unlike an SDAT, called an iPod. There was a seemingly endless variety of artists confined in the rectangular device, ranging from the Zombies to Massive Attack. Shinji knew more artists than any other kid he had met, even some adults. He never starved for music, something that seemed to make him happy, despite how he was so alone.

Shinji rummaged through the trunk for a while before finding the metal tape recorder. Quickly plugging in his ear buds and popping in a tape he scrambled onto his bed, the instant crackle of speech indicating there was no need for the tape to be rewound, revealing that this was one of the last three tapes he had not listened to. Shinji simply listened in awe to the new thoughts presented on the tape.

"The date is March thirteenth, nineteen-ninety-nine. My name is Charles Stone. I've been keeping an audio diary or sorts now for two years, a new tape every week. Usually I summarize my work for the past week or rant, but today I feel it is necessary to record my ideals on the perfect human. I know this is a foolish concept, but I suppose it is less about being the perfect human and more the way I feel people should live so as to get the most out of life. God that just makes me sound like a pretentious D-bag doesn't it?" Shinji snickered at his idol's second guessing of himself and use of profanity. It was out of character for the man Shinji had discovered and struck him as humorous.

"What I mean is that I think people should try to broaden their horizons to the farthest points they can in their lives. Try to learn new skills whenever possible. I think humanity would be a lot more stable if we were all jacks-of-all-trades. I make my own clothes, know how cook a seemingly infinite number of dishes, and can play guitar. I think if we all tried to learn all we could and help each other do so maybe humanity wouldn't always be suffering from strife and teetering on the edge of annihilation." This struck Shinji as an interesting idea, being able to be self-sufficient in terms of providing the necessities for one's self. He found the idea extremely appealing. "I took up a job as a courier in my hometown when I was ten, to support my endeavors. I wanted to know how to make clothes, food, music, and simply understand how stuff works. I didn't buy a bike for running messages and items; the idea of being good at a sport that didn't requiring me to maim anyone was too enticing so I stuck to using my legs to make my deliveries." That was another idea that intrigued Shinji.

He was always running away from other kids who wanted to turn him into a fleshy piñata and had gotten quite fast in a rather short amount of time, mostly out of desperation. The nine times he had been unsuccessful in running the fuck away from his aggressors Shinji had been, frankly, maimed and tortured. The tormentors responsible for Shinji's shitty situation were composed of two seventh graders who looked exactly like each other and talked in tandem, not unlike those freaky twins from The Shining and the ringleader, Ouzo, a beast of a ninth grader who took a sick and unsettling glee in turning younger children into hospital wards. Shinji had no idea how he had wound up on the receiving end of this motley crew's disdain, but Shinji knew that it fucking sucked to be in his position.

The first two times he had been caught Shinji was simply roughed up and left alone. The third left him with four broken ribs, a concussion, and an inch deep laceration running the full length of his right calf. The busted bones and head injury were the result of Shinji being tied up and slammed over and over with a wooden baseball bat. The deep cut (which left a deep red scar that the doctors had said would never fade) came from when Shinji had gotten free from his poorly tied bindings and escaped under a wire fence a little too hastily. Shinji had been eight and a half.

The fourth beating he had received from Ouzo's gang was an event that would make even Ted Bundy slightly queasy (well maybe not Bundy, but still it was bad). Shinji didn't like even remembering that he had been caught a fourth time. It made him feel like the entire point of his being alive was to be the whipping boy for the entire god damn planet. Shinji decided then and there that he would take up some sort of job that would allow him to run even faster away from the kids, no demons, who plagued his existence. They only had been slightly tamer the last five times.

What was truly strange about Shinji's repeated beatings were that his Aunt had always been to find him after the deeds were done. Shinji would always tell her who was responsible and she would promise to make sure consequences were given where they were due. Then she would take him to the hospital where she worked as a nurse. Shinji had his suspicions about the strange circumstance surrounding his repeated beatings. He refused to act on them though, not comprehending how a family member could do that to another family member.

"Furthermore, I think it's important for a person to be willing to stand up for himself, and to know how to knock someone out if need be. I grew up in a slummy little part of New York the first ten years of my life and northern London for the next eight. It was hell. Everywhere I went I had a chance for another kid my age to chuck a brick at my head because I looked at his sister or some other bullshit reason. I learned how to take a punch and send one back, as well as kick the same person in the temple. If someone is constantly having someone take a shit on their lives every day its okay for that person to beat their torturer into a bloody mess. I know I usually preach peace and the like, but I didn't have anyone to be there for me as a kid and there are plenty of kids today in the same situation." Charles Stone had no idea that by recording this short piece of dialogue he had inserted the final mind screw into Shinji Ikari's brain. The idea resounded through and within Shinji's consciousness leaving a mental footprint that would have serious consequences for the rest of humanity; the jury is still out on whether or not it was for the better or for the worse.

**-XxX- One Year Later-XxX-**

Shinji Ikari was enjoying himself, which was unusual. Anyone who knew Shinji recognized him as the thin kid who was essentially the town's pony express, minus the pony. Shinji was undisputedly the fastest thing on two legs that anyone in the town of Hanshin was aware of, as well as a great tailor, cook, and musician. He also mumbled and shouted a lot in a foreign language. Shinji, however, never once held any facial expression besides a placid mask, but today he was wearing a shit-eating grin. Shinji was currently dangling his legs over the edge of the town's tallest building (City hall) indulging in a maniacal fit of laughter.

"What's the matter Ouzo? Don't enjoy being dangled five stories off the ground?" Shinji had finally turned the tables on his tormentors, and had Ouzo the beast dangling by his heart covered boxer briefs from the City hall building's flag pole.

"Please Ikari! I didn't mean any of those beatings! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" The over-weight tenth-grader was crying now, the sobbing emanating from his vocal cords not unlike the mating call of a howler monkey.

"I know, Ouzo, but being sorry isn't enough. You and those two wastes of DNA you called friends are going to suffer like I did, alone, scared, and not having any comfort. I really shouldn't blame you though, now I know the real reason behind your whole sale slaughter of my innocence Ouzo." Shinji was staring down over Ouzo's chubby face, disgusted by his blubbering.

"What…what do you mean," Ouzo replied with false ignorance.

"I know who convinced you to become the source of all my misery. If you tell me why you did it and what you got from her in return I'll help you to safety. Bullshit me even once, and I swear to god the seagulls will be eating Ouzo pancakes until the EMTs find a spatula big enough to scrape you up. Now spill your guts or I'll do it for you." Shinji's face had turned back to his normal placid look, but the sheer killing intent the boy emanated filled Ouzo with the intense desire to shit himself and then scream like a little girl.

"I don't know what your!" Ouzo was cut off by the sound of grinding metal. Looking up he saw Shinji leaned over the flagpole with a hacksaw, cutting away at the flagpole. Ouzo then realized that the timid and spineless kid he had turned into his personal sadistic toy was gone, replaced with an imp made of nightmare fuel.

"I would fess up Ouzo; I only have to cut a couple centimeters into this pole before your titanic weight takes you down, down, down to the bottom of the concrete walkway." Shinji cackled like a firecracker at his own remark, his psychosis warping his sense of humor. Shinji honestly found the irony of his situation side splittingly hilarious. It was almost as funny as the airplane sequel!

"Okay! It was your aunt, Mrs. Rokubungi! She gave us five hundred yen each every time we chased you and a thousand yen for every broken bone when we caught you." Shinji snorted.

"What did you use the money for?" Shinji shouted. "What did you use your precious blood money for Ouzo? Porn magazines? Cigarettes? What was so precious you found it necessary to torture a boy two years your junior? To brand him with an antique cattle prod?"

"I don't remember, it just seemed fun! She told us it was for your own good! So you would be strong! I don't know why I did it! I just wanted to be strong! To be boss!"

"Well now you can be boss of the flagpole. Have a nice day Ouzo." Shinji pushed himself up from the roof and walked towards the door to the staircase, ignoring Ouzo's cries for help and forgiveness.

Shinji exited the city hall building, slowly walking down Main Street. His breathing was normal and even, showing no signs of distress. He looked like a regular seventh grader, albeit a rather athletic one, and had no outwardly signs of the deep psychological turmoil he was currently feeling. 'Why would Auntie do that to me? I understand she doesn't like me because I was forced upon her, but I don't see why she would subject me to that kind of treatment. I'll just ask her straight out, in front of Uncle. That would be the best situation I could work out on short term for this.' This kid is either autistic or outright stupid.

Shinji walked down the winding roads towards the closest thing to a home he had, having rendered himself oblivious to the world around him with his headphones. Shinji caught sight of himself in a window and stopped in front to examine himself. Something seemed off about his appearance in general to him. He wasn't very tall still, but he wasn't a runt anymore. His constant running as a courier for the town's mayor had led to him becoming extremely lean and almost feline in poise. His hair was a long and shaggy black mop that hid a lot of his features, so as not to look like his dad. His clothes were ones he had made, some of the better ones. He wasn't a genius tailor, but he could stitch some decent duds in his eyes. He was wearing a white tank top with a star stitched in the middle with a green plaid button-up over it. He had chosen his favorite sea-foam green shorts and a pair of homemade canvas trainers to cover his lower half. To round his ensemble off the blue newsboy cap he had found in Charles Stone's chest was perched upon is head (he only ever took it off now when he was in the shower). He looked rather well put together in his eyes, completely different from the polo wearing yuppies that seemed to populate the town of Hanshin. The only thing that really bothered Shinji was his left eye. One of Ouzo's beatings (the tenth and final) had resulted in superficial wounds to his eye, causing the muscles responsible for the expanding and contracting of the pupil to be frozen in the highest state of wideness. Shinji was terribly self-conscious over it, an issue that was only compounded when the kids at his school had taken to calling him cat-eyes. Shinji tore his eyes from his reflection and returned to walking home, forcing the sensations of wrongness associated with his appearance down into his stomach.

Shinji unlocked and opened the door to the modest three bed-room house to find no one home. Shinji wasn't expecting his aunt to be out but he felt it better to reduce chance of confrontation until he wasn't risking ripping her head off due to there being no witnesses. Shinji knew full way that he wasn't in possession in the most stable tempers; in fact he would feel only slightly uncomfortable to label himself a sociopath due to the only requirement for him turning into Norman Bates part two was for the slightest hints from his opposition that they were doing him wrong. Not to say he lacked control, he just didn't exercise it as well as he should. Shinji had been so used to being the Ghandi quoting butt monkey for the earth that when his idol told him it was okay to curb stomp, he took the idea and ran to Acapulco with it (yes, right across the remains of the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico), turning himself into a Mel Gibson… sorry, I meant a lethal weapon.

Shinji quickly untied his shoes and set them by the door, then slipped off his over shirt before throwing it into the dirty clothes hamper. He deposited his wallet and cell phone on his nightstand then dropped his canvas bag he used for his job as a courier (one of the few articles of clothing and the like he owned that he didn't make) on top of his bed. His living arrangements were rather sparse, by choice, save for his towering book shelves that covered his four windowless walls. Shinji walked over to the one corner of the room that was free of personal libraries, where his drum set sat, waiting for a good thrashing. Shinji had chosen the drums as his instrument of choice back in elementary school, when the school band gained two openings, one as a percussion player and the other cellist. His idol had always said that the most interesting people he had met were drummers so Shinji leapt at the chance to smash cymbals.

Shinji was very good at the drums, not that he would ever admit it. His hyper-eclectic taste of music (which had only become even more varied with Shinji's discovery of internet sites filled with 'free' mp3 files that were compatible with his iPod) had shaped his sense of rhythm (that made itself present in his almost syncopated mannerisms) to the point that he could flow from Stewart Copeland backwards beats to Meg White style controlled chaos. Shinji would never outright say that he was a beast with a pair of drum sticks as he held modesty high in value, yet another personal caveat he picked up from CHS. Shinji had one weakness as a weapon of mass percussion: he had a nasty habit of going through drum sticks like a hot knife through butter. He was an animal while on set, which meant he had to learn to actually make his own drumsticks to prevent losing astronomical lump sums of cash. That was an extremely rigorous task that took more frustration than cutting patterns ever would. Nether the less, Shinji knew how to make drum sticks as well as how to use them.

Shinji decided that he had better hold off until his Aunt returned home to practice his craft, slipped on his headphones, and walked into kitchen to prepare dinner. Opting for something a little more western compared to the traditional Japanese food he had been forced to make for his Aunt (when she only ever ate at home for some reason) he pulled out the various ingredients he would need. It was only four thirty, but he was going to make Texas toast from scratch, and that would require a little extra time.

"Why is bread so freaking hard to make from scratch? I don't know how the bakeries make it look so easy. But I shouldn't complain, after all, _panem et circenses. _No, that was Horace and relates to satire, not appropriate. How 'bout _finis coronat opus ._After all, bread is delicious. " Shinji huffed and let a cartoonish pout spread to his face. He was markedly more expressive outside of any human's cone of vision.

Three hours later Shinji was broken from his trance induced by kitchen work and Jeff Buckley by his Uncle tapping him on the back. Shinji instantly whipped around to face him, his blank mask back on his face.

"Hey kiddo how was your day?" Shinji's uncle was an average man, but Shinji had learned over the past year that he was a good man. When Shinji told him that he wanted to take the high school equivalency exam and be done with educational institutions for the rest of his life at age fourteen, he had happily agreed and helped the boy study to the point of getting a ninety-nine percent on his exam. The two actually had a decent guardian-ward relationship now, despite his Uncle's weariness towards becoming a father figure and his Aunt's almost zealous vow of having no emotional investment in Shinji's life.

Shinji responded in English, _"__O, praeclarum custodem, ovium lupum!_Hey Uncle, have a good day at the office today? Before you even ask I'm not telling what's cooking. It's going to be a surprise." Shinji had a policy of speaking entirely in English when talking to his Uncle, occasionally dropping Latin quotes (a byproduct of his hellish English tutoring).

"O, excellent protector of sheep, the wolf? Shinji, what did I tell you about Cicero?" Shinji's uncle had taken up residence on a stool in front of the bar lining the kitchen, his cheek resting on one of his hands.

"That he only believed in luck, had no respect for age or wisdom, and was lucky that Cassius didn't stick a knife between his ribs. I know all that, but he's so quotable! Inhumanity is challenging in every generation? Genius! Besides, I like all the Latin mucking about we do. It's an intellectual reprieve for me, a release from the mundane restraints of society." Shinji's uncle snorted in response, eliciting a genuine smile from Shinji.

The two spoke in near perfect unison, reciting,_ "Rident stolidi verba Latina._ Fools laugh at the Latin language." Shinji chuckled with his Uncle, remembering when their other house mate had laughed at Shinji's uncle for trying to teach Shinji Latin.

Shinji's face took a dark expression when he returned to cooking. He didn't want to have this discussion, but it was necessary. "Uncle Takaya, do you remember Ouzo?" Takaya sat up in his stool, crossing his arms to show he understood this was meant to be serious.

"You mean the kid who put you in a hospital and caused your need for reading glasses? Yeah, I remember him. He try anything again? You hear about him being hung from the town hall flagpole? "

"Yes, he tried to corner me on the roof of the town hall, I kicked his ass."

"Not surprised, the last time he went after you those two flunkies of his had their noses bent ninety degrees and their arms broken." Takaya didn't mention how Shinji had gotten the two twins confessing their incestuous homosexual love for each other on camera after breaking said limbs. Shinji had simply told them to tell the truth about their characters and that was the first thing that came out of their mouths. Shinji found it funny, in a really weird cosmic way. It was almost like past-life deja-vu.

Shinji had everything ready for dinner at this point and was done cleaning up. He leaned against the bar with his elbows across form Takaya, a contemplative look on his face. "Well, while he was dangling above the ground he told me something rather disturbing." Shinji leaned his face in his palm and sighed, stressed beyond belief over his situation.

"What'd he say Shinji? No one lies in a life or death situation, unless they're extremely brave or very death, and that pig of a kid is neither." Takaya may have the looks of an average salary man, but growing up with Yui had imparted a strong sense character on him, as well as a knack for the more intellectual side of life.

"He said that Aunt Mizu paid him and the disappointing duo to torture me and turn me into their own personal human hacky-sack. You understand why I may seem rather lacking in excitement over divulging this to you." Takaya's face was that of reluctant acceptance mixed with the slightest hint of understanding.

"She's finally snapped hasn't she?" Takaya held his forehead in his hands, shaking it left and right. "You know, she stalked me right? That was how she got me top date her. She promised to let me alone if I simply went out with her. She's so fucked up"

"You said it man, not me. I didn't want to believe it, but I do have grounds to think she hates me with the white hot burning intensity of a thousand supernovas. I'm just angry that she's responsible for my eye, the thing drives me crazy."

The two sat in silence for a few minutes before the door opened. Mizu Ikari stepped inside to see a rather unsettling scene. The brat had not set the table for dinner and her ignoramus of a husband had left his jacket and briefcase on the couch. She lived with such inconsiderate men. 'No matter, I'll punish both of them appropriately,' she thought to herself. Walking into the kitchen she saw the two men in question seated at the bar skirting the kitchen, looking at her with rather dark expression.

Mizu addressed them in a forced syrup sweet voice, "What? I return home to my loving husband and darling nephew without a hello from either of them and dinner isn't even made? Why are you both looking at me with such horrible faces?"

Shinji smirked at the dinner remark and chimed in, "Dinner's has already been made. I have it in the oven to keep it warm." Mizu hated the way the brat spoke to her, like he thought he was better than her.

"Well what are we waiting for? I'll go get changed and you two can set the table."

Takaya interceded, "No, we're going to have a talk first. Shinji received a very interesting piece of information that I would like to discuss with you. Shinji?" Shinji nodded at his uncle and got up from his seat, walking a few feet in front of his aunt.

"I know that you convinced those kids to essentially attempt to murder me." Shinji stared unblinkingly into his aunt's eyes, almost daring her to lie to him. The two stood there, Shinji staring unblinkingly and his Aunt spinning through a myriad of expressions. Takaya simply looked on, a heavy weight pushing on his heart. He spoke up.

"You did it didn't you? You wanted to make someone else hurt like you did from losing your son. Guess what? I think that's sick. I also think it's sick that you tried so hard to make my family hurt. I'm done with this Mizu! You can't treat people like this!" Takaya had stood up, his jaw and fists clenched tight.

Mizu pushed Shinji away and ran to her husband. "Please honey! Understand! I couldn't let that man's child come between us! We already lost Roku! I couldn't lose you!"

Shinji began to cackle from his position on the floor where he had fallen from Mizu's shove, then spoke in a surprisingly calm voice that slowly escalated. "You thought I was going to try to replace your son? My mother had died right in front of my eyes only a week before I came here to live with you! You pushed me away! You encouraged Takaya to be all sadistic as a teacher! I have over thirty scars from those kids that will never fade, all over me, all because of you! I look like someone tried to transplant a fucking eye from a cat in my eye socket, because of you! I'm your fucking nephew. Your fucking Nakama! You were so caught up in your suffering that you refused to move past that you made a little kid more fucked up than he already was. I was alone! All I had was that trunk I found! My idol is some loopy American author! I have more fucking issues than detective comics because of you! Do you understand how that was fucking evil! You're fucking Darth Mizu now! Where's your red light saber and secret apprentice? Do you want to borrow my inhaler? Why don't I just cut off my fucking hand and call it a day?!" Shinji was cut off from his rage fueled tirade when Mizu leapt at him, wrapping her petite hands around Shinji's thin neck, cutting off his airways. Takaya watched in abject horror, frozen in disgust.

Mizu screeched like a banshee as she put more pressure on Shinji's wind pipe. "Shut up you sick little fuck! You are a little fucking monster who should know better than to open up his dirty little trap! You've ruined everything! I was content to just make you miserable for reminding me every day of your monster of a father! You should be happy you don't even look like him now Cat Eyes!" Shinji was flailing and pushing, desperate to breathe again, but despite his not-so-meager strength he couldn't wrench Mizu from her position of death-dealing.

Shinji was very surprised when Mizu was sent flying. Standing over Shinji was a heaving Takaya, who was holding a bar stool with both hands. Takaya dropped the stool and helped Shinji up, pulling the boy into a hug. Shinji was surprised, but returned the hug nonetheless. The two were interrupted when Takaya was tackled down by his wife. Before she could harm his uncle Shinji brought his leg against her chin, kicking upwards, than brought his leg back down against her shoulder blades. Mizu was rendered immobile in pain instantly. Takaya leapt to his feet and whipped out his cellphone, dialing the police.

**-XxX- twelve hours later –XxX-**

Shinji and Takaya once again looked at each other across the bar in the kitchen. Shinji set down his coffee mug and spoke.

"I'm sorry"

"Why?" Takaya continued eating, not looking up.

"Your wife tried to kill you because you stopped her from killing me." Shinji took another sip of coffee. "I would think that you would be angry at something, if not me."

Takaya set down his chopsticks and looked at Shinji dead. He was haggard looking, not sleeping all night would do that. He had five o'clock shadow and bloodshot eyes. "Shinji, please de-rail that train of thought. I'm just tired. Mizu is a crazy bitch and she tried to kill my nephew. I'm not sure if I ever even loved her. Roku wasn't even my kid." Shinji slammed his mug down in surprise.

"What? I mean… what?"

"I'm infertile, Mizu was artificially inseminated." Takaya extended his palms up and shrugged. "I know it makes me sound like a huge dick but I never really felt like his father. I was too caught up in not being like my dad."

"Was you and mom's father really so horrible?" Shinji knew nothing about his family, and saw a chance to remedy that, despite the grim circumstances.

"He was like every shitty shogun ever mixed with fucking Nero, with an alcohol problem."

"At least we're not related to Norman Bates, eh?" Takaya hummed in response.

The two sat in silence. Shinji rubbed his fingertips over the dark marks on his neck Mizu's fingertips had left. Shinji opened his mouth to speak but opted not to and pulled out the letter he had found in the morning post from his pants pocket. He placed the letter face-down next to Takaya's empty plate and then turned to clean up the kitchen that was still in disarray from the previous night. Takaya took the letter in hands and turned it over to look at the return address. A venomous expression took hold of his features; the letter was from Gendo Ikari, his brother-in-law and Shinji's father.


	2. Goodbyes and changes

Shinji and Takaya Ikari were currently dancing to the David Bowie song 'Sound and vision' on infinite loop… while extremely drunk. Neither party was sure why they had picked this specific song, other than that it seemed right, like saying hello again to a person you've never met but they still remind you of one of your closest friends… or something like that. They did however know why they, a thirty year old salary man and a fifteen year old bike messenger (minus the bike), were drunker than two proverbial skunks. Shinji had received a letter from his father that had a single word on it in large bold print: "COME", which was rather confusing, as there was no return address other than Gendo's name and a weird stylized emblem, which neither party could decipher due to only noticing it after they had gotten drunk.

That had been three hours, nine bottles of Jack Daniels, and roughly forty-five song repeats earlier. They didn't stop until another three hours later, the same events repeating themselves.

* * *

Shinji awoke on the kitchen floor, in a lot of pain.

"OOOOOWWWWWWWW," he moaned, clueing in the rest of the world about his state of deep pain. He pulled his newsboy cap further down his face, to block the encroaching sunlight coming from a nearby window. "Takaya! Uncle! What the hell happened?!"

Said man in question walked into the kitchen in a bathrobe, mug of coffee in one hand and newspaper in the other.

"We got drunk. It was your idea." Takaya smirked and took a sip of coffee.

"Jack Daniels, why have you betrayed me! You said we would have a good time! Why did you lie to me?" Shinji flailed on the ground for effect, moaning out of hung over pain.

"Shinji, this is your first lesson in the world of adult vices, Jack Daniels is a liar and is not your friend," teased Takaya in a manly baritone.

Shinji grunted then replied, "I remember half-seriously suggesting that we get drunk and you agreeing, which surprised me. Then I remember Bowie and the acronym NERV. After that, well… my dreams are weird to say the least."

"Was it the one about the girls?"

Shinji groaned. "No, the one with the giant tarot cards circling around me." Takaya had taken a rather severe interest into Shinji's dreams after the boy had described one to the man.

"How do you know they're tarot cards buddy? They could just be Freudian reflections of your subconscious."

"You know I hate Freud Takaya." Shinji did indeed hate Freud, as well as Shelly the poet and Shelly the lady who wrote the book that scared the living shit out of him. Those three were towards the middle of Shinji Ikari's list-of-people-I-hate-and-and-will-punch-if-I-ever-meet.

"Well, all that aside, we need to talk." Shinji sat up and pulled his hat up, trying to make himself comfortable. He stretched his arms, let out a yawn, and then rubbed his face. Takaya dragged the remaining barstool to the middle of the kitchen, unfolding his newspaper and flipping to the editorial section.

"Do you hate me for breaking your wife's jaw?"

"No." Takaya turned his page.

Shinji sat for a while, thinking. "Do you hate me for getting us drunk?"

Takaya turned the page again. "No."

"Is it because you married your sister's best friend who happened to be related to your sister's husband and are extremely confused about the state of your life."

Takaya took a sip of coffee. "Nope."

Shinji groaned before collapsing back on the floor. "Then what is it Uncle?"

Takaya closed his newspaper. "Well the first thing is you calling me that."

Shinji sat up with his legs crisscross. "What do you mean? You're my uncle."

"I'm not your uncle Shinji. Uncles don't get drunk with their nephews. You're my friend Shinji, even though you've been a much better one to me." Takaya stood from his stool and extended his hand to help Shinji up, then pulled the boy into a hug. Shinji was caught by surprise but returned the embrace anyways. "You're a great kid Shinji and you only seem to get better every day."

Takaya broke the hug then gripped Shinji's shoulders, looking straight into the boy's miss-matched eyes. "You need to go to Tokyo-3. That's where your father works. I don't know what he does, but that letter had a train ticket for tomorrow in it. I know it's crazy and your father is a bastard, but you need to go."

Shinji looked reluctant. "What about you?"

"I'll be fine. I have to clean up my life, but I promise I'll come and visit as soon as everything is okay." Shinji hugged the man in front of him, tears falling from his eyes.

"Okay."

"Okay. The mayor called earlier, about why you weren't in for work. I explained everything. He wants to see you before you go, so you should go get ready."

"Okay. Thank you Takaya. You're the only friend I've ever had, but I think your better than any I could've had."

_"Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis._ It's for the better though."

Shinji broke off the hug and looked at the floor. He wiped his eyes then looked up, a billion dollar smile on his face. _"Omnia mutantur."_ With that, Shinji walked off to get ready to say goodbye to his employer.

* * *

Shinji took a deep breath as he knocked on the door to the mayor's office, then let it out as he opened the door. The mayor of Hanshin was a man by the name Ritsuragi Keimo. Shinji found the man absolutely enthralling; he had a presence not unlike Shaun Connery or Kevin Bacon, though a tad bit more Japanese in flavor. Shinji walked in and took a seat at the chair in front of the large desk in the center of the circular room. The mayor was currently looking out of the large window behind his desk, chair turned away from the door.

"Shinji, I have a confession." The man turned around, revealing his rugged features and unshaven face. The mayor was roughly in his fifties, but could easily pass for someone in his late thirties.

"Yes sir?"

"I work for your father. I'm a member of section two, an intelligence group, under the organization known as NERV."

"So you're a spy? Why would my father want to spy on me? I would've happily divulged every facet of my existence if he ever contacted me." Shinji wasn't surprised. As much as he admired the mayor, something about him had always made Shinji feel uncomfortable.

"I know this isn't something you want to hear. For the past eight years I've been giving your father a monthly report on your activities and growth as an individual."

Shinji snapped at the man with a vicious tone. "So you've had the whole town funneling information to you about me for as long as I've been here. Is that why everyone seems to avoid me like the plague? Because the mayor wants to know everything I do every day?"

The mayor simply maintained his calm composure and looked at the boy across from him, examining him. 'He's so different now. There's an almost sense of feral nature coming from him now. What happened to the spineless little boy?'

"That is a very astute observation Shinji, as well as a correct one. I gave a report every month based on the town's observations up until a year ago, when you became my courier. Since then I've been feeding him falsified information and photos to keep him unassuming about your rapid changes. "

Shinji scowled. "Why," he questioned in a venomous voice.

The mayor leaned forward with his hands clasped in front of him. He spoke barely above a whisper. "Because you changed. I saw, before then, a boy who would act as his father's pawn in a chess game that went beyond his comprehension. Now you're much different: a jack-of-all-trades who has a fierce will and the heart of an animal. You can save us. I couldn't let him change that."

"Who is us?"

"Your father belongs to a group of very selfish men, who are going to use creatures from beyond the human realm of comprehension to serve themselves."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I think you can save all of humanity."

"I'm fifteen."

"So are all those heroes in all those books you read. Rand Al'thor? He was only fifteen wasn't he?"

"I'm not the fucking dragon reborn. I'm a fucked up teenager who's all alone"

"Not for long." The mayor got from his seat and walked over to the large cabinet on the left side of his room, Shinji's eyes not once leaving him. Pulling out a set of keys, he went through them until he selected one and unlocked the cabinet. He pulled out a large plain white box then closed the doors, locking them.

He set the box down on his desk and pushed it towards Shinji, resuming his previous position.

"What is this?" Shinji was apprehensive about the man placing a mysterious box near him, as he had no idea who the mayor really was.

"Open it." Shinji did just that, acting slowly and methodically.

The box turned out to contain a three piece suit of obvious extreme quality, a handgun of unrecognizable make to Shinji, and an ornate pocket knife.

The mayor gave a toothy smile to the boy across "Do you like it? The suit will be big on you, but that leaves room to grow."

"Why the fuck are you giving me a gun and a suit? This isn't a fucking James Bond flick. You are not Q."

"You are going to need it Shinji. Your father and his associates are bad men, who will kill to keep things going their way, even their sons. Learn to use it, and that knife. You can punch, kick, and stomp already, but you can't expect to win every fight without a trustworthy sidearm."

"What about ammo?"

"There's a clip in there and I have a couple of boxes of bullets I could give you."

"Why are you doing this? Why not just keep your nose out and not risk getting embroiled in situations where you stick out your own neck?"

"I don't want the bad guys to win Shinji. I want the earth to get better, where it was before second impact.

"You work for the bad guys don't you? How do I know you're not one?"

"Well Shinji, you have to trust me. Trust someone for the first time in your conscious life."

Shinji looked down at the open box then back at the Mayor. "Okay."

* * *

Shinji turned around and looked at Takaya before he stepped on the train.

"Takaya, I have a bad feeling about this."

"I do to kiddo, but you have to believe in yourself. You are a stronger person than anyone I've ever known and you're only fifteen. I know that you'll do great things."

"Okay. I'll see you soon Takaya." Shinji turned around and stepped onto the train moments before the door slid shut behind him. Shinji walked down the aisle till he came to his compartment that he was to stay in during the ride to Tokyo-3. He had found another piece of information from his father's letter (which he felt foolish for not checking everything in the envelope).

He was to be picked up from the train station by Major Misato Katsuragi. The person in question was a very well-endowed young woman who had found it necessary to highlight said endowments with a photo of herself at the beach. Shinji was a little insulted at this. The fact that she found it necessary to tease him in such a manner without even knowing him was a strong indicator of a weak character in his eyes and instantly inspired the idea in his mind that the two of them would get along as well as cavemen and atomic bombs.

Shinji set his duffle bag on the floor of his compartment and his metal trunk on one of the benches, and then took a seat opposite from it. He looked down at himself, suddenly feeling underdressed. He had scrambled from the house as he and Takaya had slept in late and had to scramble for Shinji to make his train. He had pulled on his work clothes, which were ragged and full of holes from him running where he shouldn't have (read: rooftops and other such places ) to shave off time from deliveries. Shinji picked up his duffle bag and quickly took out the first set of adequate clothes he found. He quickly changed and examined his reflection in the train window. He was wearing some of the nicest clothes he had ever made, a pair of corduroy jeans and a blue and white plaid-patterned button-down, with a tie thrown in for good measure. Satisfied with his clothes he sat down and dug his IPod out from his courier bag. Quickly popping in the ear buds, Shinji leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes.

* * *

Shinji woke up, somewhere else. He was sitting in very comfortable chair and was surrounded by absolute blackness. He tried to get up, but for some reason he couldn't move his legs.

"Who's here? I don't have dreams like this and it would only be appropriate for there to be another entity here." Shinji's question was answered with the sound of a breaker being flicked, casting a spotlight on another man in a chair not far from his. He was thin, impossibly so, with jet black eyes and hair. He skin was so pale Shinji would've sworn that he could see the man's organs firing away under his skin. He had his hands wrapped around the edges of his chair and his legs crossed. He made Shinji uncomfortable, making him feel as though the man was almost lovecraftian in nature.

"Hello." The man's voice made Shinji shiver; it was like nothing he had heard before. The singular word seemed to pierce Shinji's soul and reverberate through-out the emptiness surrounding the two of them.

Shinji spoke pensively, "This isn't a dream is it?" The man tilted his head and smiled.

"No, it is not."

"Who… what are you?"

"I am a friend. My name is, was before I died I should say, Morpheus." Shinji recognized the name, which didn't bode well.

"How can the king of all dreams die?"

"Painfully. Now, are you going to tell me your name? It is impolite to not do so when introduced to someone new." The man seemed different to Shinji suddenly. Within an instant he felt more at ease. "I forgot myself, I apologize. I was with friends before coming to you, so I was not holding my power back like I should've in the presence of mortal creatures."

"My name is Shinji, Shinji Ikari. Why are you here, in… whatever we're in?" Shinji really wanted to know, not because he was confused or frightened, but because he was genuinely curious.

"We are currently in your mind that I forced into a blank dreamlike state. As for why, it is because I have seen the story you are a part of unfold before and I do not wish for that story to end the same."

Shinji fired off a series of questions, barely continuing his excitement, "I thought you were the king of dreams? That you only oversaw stories? Maintained them? Why would you want to change one?" Shinji was reacting out of sheer curiosity, he was desperate to know. He didn't care his situation was beyond impossible and outside of human circumstance, he was in the presence of a god-like being that had taken an interest in him. To Shinji, this was like Christmas, his birthday, and Oktoberfest all rolled up in one (even though he had never experienced these things before in his life and was only assuming that his excitement would be comparable to them).

"That is because this story has never ended the right way. I intend to change that. I am no longer who I was, so I am allowed to do this. Now Shinji, no more questions. I will be missed from where I am staying if we prolong this conversation."

"Okay, I'm sorry. I just got excited."

"Understandable. Now, I have a gift for you. Hold still." Before Shinji could even respond the man snapped his fingers. Shinji felt pain rip through his eyes, as though they had been lit on fire than ripped from their sockets. Still unable to move his legs, Shinji bent over, clenching his head. His agonized screams echoed all around the nothingness surrounding the two.

"What are you doing to me? It's like you're tearing my soul in half!" Shinji was incapable of comprehending the sheer pain that was coursing through him. It was like the end of the world was occurring in his mind.

The man smiled and stood from his chair. "I am simply awakening something that was taken from you, as well as giving you something extra. Goodbye third child. I expect you to bring this story to an appropriate conclusion."

Shinji could only cry in agony as a response as his vision cut out and the darkness overtook him.

* * *

Shinji opened his eyes to find that his train had arrived at his stop. The pain was gone but still was fresh in his memory. "I am so fucked up," he whispered to himself as he gathered his things and exited the train. The door closed behind him and the train quickly sped off, leaving the station as though it was running from the devil itself.

The station was entirely empty save Shinji, which was unsettling for the boy. "Where is everyone? Tokyo-3 is supposed to be a city, not a wasteland." Shinji walked out of the station out onto the street, where there was no one. "Okay, I am not going to live like the last man on Earth. If I don't see another person soon I'm going to jump off the nearest building taller than three stories."

Shinji walked the road on the outskirts of the city, which looked as though it itself was actually missing buildings. "What in the world is going on? That Major or whoever was supposed to meet me at the station and there's not a single living thing here for what seems infinite space." Shinji's question was met with the sound of a massive explosion occurring less than a thousand feet from him. From the smoke rose a hulking miss-proportioned human-like figure with a mask for a face. What was really unsettling for Shinji was the massive flame like ball above the figure's head that had the word Sachiel in English on it. "What in the nine hells?"

The figure began walking towards Shinji when something unexpected happened. A giant purple and green thing that Shinji could only describe as a giant robot barreled into the figure's side sending it flying into a hillside. The robot righted itself then locked faces with Shinji, then started to approach him. Shinji was frozen in place by an unfamiliar emotion, it was like an over whelming sense of… partnership. The robot knelt before Shinji, the sounds of its limbs and joints moving together audible. A plate covering what was presumably the robot's spine (or whatever a robot has) popped up and a long cylindrical tube was released from a hole in the now revealed exoskeleton of the titanic machine. Shinji still stood in his place, then a voice spoke… in his mind.

** Get in.**

* * *

A/N: Well that's done. This chapter served the purpose of introducing the concepts that will make my fic what it will be. I want to thank my two first ever reviewers and reply to them. Hypnos: Thank you so much! I'm glad that you enjoyed it and I promise it will only get better!

coldblue: Thanks. I'm really happy that I could have someone call my work awesome; it really makes me feel like I accomplished something. To answer your questions, Shinji is fluent in Japanese, English, and Latin. He may learn others later. As for his ability as a pilot, well there's some foreshadowing here and I can assure he will kick-ass.


	3. When Aeon met Volare

Shinji looked at the massive humanoid machine kneeling in front of him, simply trying to take it all in. It was massive, making him seem only slightly greater in stature than a dust mite. It was primarily purple, with green highlights lining its limbs and torso. On both of its shoulders were fin-like pylons. Its armor struck Shinji as odd though. It seemed more like it was meant to hinder and restrict the machine rather than protect it, which made no sense. Its helmet though was fucking cool. It reminded Shinji of the oni he had heard of in old folk tales, demons that were sometimes good, sometimes bad, and always ferocious. Shinji stood there his arms hanging by his sides, loosely gripping his duffel bag and metal trunk. The voice repeated itself, reverberating once more in Shinji's mind.

**Get in Volare.**

Shinji's breathing grew shallow, as a demonic smile graced his face. "Alright. Against my better judgment I'll get in." Shinji ran up the mecha's bent leg and hopped onto its palm. The robot moved its palm up to its shoulder, allowing Shinji to hop down and reach the long cylinder extending from the mecha's back. Shinji pulled himself in without a moment of hesitation. The cylinder retreated back into the spine of the machine and the armored plate snapped back into place.

Shinji slid down into the long metal cylinder until he reached the front, which tapered out into what looked like a cock-pit. There was a cushion seated in front of two handles that looked like controls. Shinji set his things down behind the cushion and sat astride it, gripping the controls. He tried to reach out to the voice that had spoken to him. 'What now? You want to fight this thing right?'

**I run on your thoughts, the controls help aid you reinforce them. I could fight this monster myself, but I would run the risk of losing myself in the fight and going berserk.**

'What about me? If you can poke around in my head like you are then you should know that I'm not the most stable of combatants.'

**Yes, but without you I cannot generate a proper AT-field or manipulate it very well?**

** '**AT-field? What's that?' Before the machine could respond the monster rose from its stupor and began to approach them, slowly gaining speed. Shinji took a second to analyze the creature, scanning for any obvious points of weakness. It was the same size as the machine he was piloting, but it was nowhere near as human. It was very top heavy, extremely barrel chested. The creature was an inky black, with a red sphere embedded in its solar plexus. There was no face on its head, only a plain ivory mask. There was a visible amphibious motif in the creature in Shinji's eyes. Its arms had been scrawny things, with trident like hands, but now they were more muscular and instead of hands there were long red blades. From the giant floating orb above its head Shinji could only assume the creature was called Sachiel.

Sachiel was getting close, when its legs were suddenly covered in an aura of yellow octagons it jumped, really high. Shinji simply looked on in shock as the creature moved in an arc. Moments before Sachiel's legs came crashing into the robot's body; Shinji instinctively leapt back, narrowly avoiding the impact. Then he realized that it wasn't he himself that leapt back but the robot had. Shinji instantly understood how to pilot the robot, it was dependent on him using it as an extension of himself: it would do as he would.

**Good, you understand.**

Shinji cackled in response, "Damn straight I understand, and now I'm going to turn this glorified flesh bag into a piñata!" Shinji ran forward, cocking his fist back and bringing it square into Sachiel's mask, sending it flying into the ground. "You're not done yet! Get up." As if responding to him the creature lashed out at Shinji with its bladed arms. Shinji brought his arms up into a guard, the organic swords glancing off the heavy plates.

Taking advantage of Sachiel's stagger, Shinji whipped around, delivering a round house kick into the kaiju's side. Not letting a chance for attack be passed up, Shinji righted his stance from the kick and swung his horned head into Sachiel's mask, a deafening cracking noise ringing out in response. Sachiel brought its arms to his head, trying to shake off the dizziness. He didn't understand! How could a human use this abomination like it was! Where was its blood rage and reckless abandon? He couldn't fight a beast like this if it had intelligence!

Shinji snarled at the monster, "Had enough you bi-pedal fuck up? Or am I going to have to smash your face into an unrecognizable bloody mash and make you eat with whatever is left of your presumably existent digestive track?"

**Volare, I do not believe that this creature possesses such organic systems.**

"Thank you giant robot! Now how do I carve this thing limb to limb? You have to have some sort of weapon right?"

**… Unfortunately I do not. I broke free from my restraints in NERV headquarters when I detected your presence in the vicinity. I was concerned with your safety in light of the arrival of this… I believe its kind have been designated as angels… and immediately went in search of you without procuring any armaments. **

Shinji responded as he dodged Sachiel's feeble attempts at carving the robot into sashimi, "Well that was a well thought out course of action. And angel? Really? Whoever the hell is responsible for naming shit around here is going to get a large portion of my mind whenever I meet them." Shinji was cut off from his tirade when the counter-punch he had launched off was blocked by another yellow aura of octagons. "What the hell is that!? First it uses it to turn itself into a giant lawn dart and now it's a shield! That breaks too many natural laws for me not to be a little worried!"

**It is an AT-field, the physical manifestation of a souls' ego. It allows for an entity to bend the world around them. I have one as well.**

"How do I use it?" Before Shinji could get an answer, Sachiel broke through his guard and used its blades to knock him into a building, collapsing it around him. Shinji coughed in the cockpit, his back somehow aching from the impact. He looked at the hand he had covered his mouth with and realized he had hacked up a considerable amount of blood. 'How,' he thought, "I shouldn't have gotten hurt from that.'

**It is because you are bonded with me, now and forever. Out damage is mutual.**

"When the hell did that happen? I don't recall anything like that ever occurring!"

**When you awoke from your artificial sleep, our bond was awoken from dormancy. It was first established when your mother gave me her soul.**

Shinji stopped mid-punch, allowing for Sachiel to land in a series of blows. 'That… was you? I… thought that was a… was a dream.' Shinji was stuck in a stupor as Sachiel continued to score hits with its blades. It was a fluke it thought. The human is nothing! I will return to the seed and remake this planet it thought.

**Volare, I realize that you must be in great turmoil, but I will explain all that I know when we have slayed this Angel. **

Shinji's face took a grim expression, he was angry now. More than angry, he had snapped. He was inside the thing that had taken his mother from him. The thing that had led to his loneliness. The thing that led to his discovery of his hero and inner strength. He was angry because he wasn't angry. He wanted to hate the machine that had rescued him, but he couldn't. He screamed in rage, throwing the angel still wailing on his guarded state for a loop. The mech was surprised, her Volare did not hate her, but hated himself for not doing so. The boy who was bonded to her sent volley after of volley of conflicting and frenzied emotions cascading through their telepathic link.

Shinji roared as he threw Sachiel back before charging the lopsided humanoid, cocking his fist back in the process. As he threw his right hook, something unexpected happened. A neon green lance manifested over the robot's fist. Shinji broke from his berserker madness as the green mass pierced through the angel's face-mask, causing a torrential blood spurt to erupt. "Was… was that an AT-field?"

**Yes, but I was not expecting you to be able to manipulate it to such a degree. From what I understand weaponized manipulation is impossible even for a fully matured angel.**

Shinji withdrew his fist and hopped back away from the flailing monster. It was dying it screamed to itself. How could this be! The insect human used the gift of the seed! How! This isn't fair it screamed to itself. I will take this abomination with me to the void it shrieked in its mind Shinji and the robot flinched at the first sound their opponent made during their whole fight. The creatures scream echoed all around them. Then something unexpected happened, the creature exploded. Shinji simply stared at the inky blobs surrounding the city scape, which had sustained surprisingly little damage. The flame like orb that had been above the angel bearing the name Sachiel had dissipated, no longer visible. "Did we win?"

**I do not know. The chain of events that has occurred is not understandable to me. You weaponized an AT-field and the angel attempted to self-destruct. I felt something strange occur when the angel screamed, as though our AT-field smothered the creature before it exploded.**

"So we can break physics? That's cool. I don't know what I feel right now, other than I'm tired." Shinji reclined back into the control seat, before sighing. "You, I'm going to call you Aeon. I can't just keep calling you giant robot. I want information though. Why don't I hate you? How was I able to kick that thing's ass? I don't fucking know anything."

**Aeon? I see… I enjoy this moniker. As for your questions….**

Aeon was unable to continue the conversation as Shinji had passed out.

**Thank you Volare, no… thank you Shinji. I will stand by your side for as long as you wish.**

* * *

A/N: Well, that's done. I'm sorry about this chapter being short, but I felt that it was appropriate to end it after the fight. Aeon and Shinji are now permanently bonded together at the soul. So everything that happens to one is mutual. Yes, unit-01 is a chick. She was cloned from Lilith after all. Next chapter will be the after math for Shinji not meeting N.E.R.V. before he opened a can of whoop-ass on Sachiel. The ability for Shinji to see the Angel's names will be elaborated on and it will be expanded. His relationship with N.E.R.V. will be… well it won't be normal. Shinji can handle a kitchen knife, but he doesn't know how to fight with one. He will be a natural shot, but he'll still know jack shit 'bout guns, till later. The German language is derived from Gaelic and Celtic dialects primarily, but he might learn it just for the chance to mind screw Asuka. As for how Unit-01 got to Shinji, well there is a giant hole in about seventeen different walls at N.E.R.V. H.Q. Morpheus is the reason for why Shinji can see the Angel's names and there are other things that will come from his gift to Shinji. I think that covers all the questions. Thanks to Bolt, Coldblue, and Alandor for reviewing, you guys kick a huge amount of ass.


End file.
